The Heartskeeper
by noxbocksty
Summary: The Hearts-keeper devotes himself to his work. Slight USUK. Based off "The Hammer-Song."


The Heart-keeper did not like his work, but work he must. His work prevented him from any real contact with the others, but he did not mind all that much. The Heart-keeper's work was important, and no one else could do it as well as he. He'd had practice; two millennia of practice. He had once briefly gotten respite for 50 years, but it had ended, and he was back to work.

The Heart-keeper's work was to collect all the broken hearts of the world and seal them away in boxes for cataloguing. Cracked, chipped, glass things they were, but in them was a feebly fluttering heartbeat, as if they could learn to love again.

The country of origin did not matter when he shut them away, but he could feel who the hearts had belonged to. His because they were his own, and the beats were like the strong flutters of robin birds. (The Heart-keeper handled these with special care; they _were _birds to him; soft baby birds to be cradled and taken care of. But the birds were gone, leaving but a body behind.) Others were lustrous or dull, big or small, booming bass drums of heartbeats or barely any at all.

The Heart-keeper took the boxes filled with broken hearts and carried them, one by one, into the middle of his rose garden. Others might have a fountain, but he had a tower: the boxes completed over the years he stacked higher and higher, up into the clouds to weep at the sun. Sometimes he got his ladder and climbed up the stack, just to sit atop it and gaze down upon the world. Greeting the birds as they flew past and watching the comings-and-goings of everyone else, and smiling down at the hearts being filled below. Sometimes he was able to forget the sadness packaged below him.

As time went on, more and more hearts broke, and the stack grew higher and higher, the top brushing the midnight shy. When The Heart-keeper kneeled on it, he could almost grasp a handful of stars. Two decades later, and he could. He stared in wonderment at the palmful of glittering stardust in his palm, before a wind scattered it.

Time and time went on. The tower soared and soared, higher and higher. The Heart-keeper always made his monthly visit, rushing away to his garden to climb the ladder to the top, away from all the other souls that tried to talk to him. He just wanted to be alone, and look at all the happiness that never graced him (because of what brought him to bathing in stardust). The others grew worried, he knew, as he sank deeper into his work and hid from the rest of the world. But he didn't need them.

But one day he climbed and climbed his ladder to the very top of the tower and sat on it, breathing a sigh as he finished the ascent, when his ladder tipped…

…and fell.

The Heart-keeper was sure he had never felt such a panic as he had when the ladder fell.

For the first time, he felt the stack swayed precariously, and the stardust seemed toxic rather than awe-inspiring. Bile rose in his throat, and his cheeks paled, and his stomach shifted. For the first time in centuries, tears rose in his eyes.

No one would remember him to even consider coming and trying to get him down. The Heart-keeper had chased them all away, and he was going to die on the fruit of his labors.

He stayed up there for a long, long time.

The Heart-keeper had stopped weeping and was curled up, waiting for the end to arrive. Why should he hope? No one cared about him, and-

WHAM.

A shock shook the boxes, and the Heart-keeper fell down a few feet. He gasped sharply. He was so frightened- his boxes, his tower! What was happening? Was he going to die with his broken hearts?

"ENGLAND!"

The Heart-keeper's head shot up. Wasn't… wasn't that his name…?

"ENGLAND! ENGLAND, ARE YOU OKAY?"

He wanted to shout back to the Laugh-keeper _yes I'm fine you dolt now hurry up and help me get down!_ but the words would not come to his mouth, and he stayed silent. He plummeted down again, but

"OH, CRAP! JUST HOLD ON, ENGLAND, I'LL GET YOU DOWN!"

Down? Did… did that mean they missed him? No, no, the Heart-keeper assured himself, they didn't care. They probably just needed something from him. They probably just wanted to use him again. That was all, definitely.

The tower shook again, and the Heart-keeper continued to fall.

Down, down, down again… why was the Laugh-keeper doing this? And know that he was closer to the ground, the Heart-keeper could see others- the Dream-lord, the Time-keeper, the Sunset and Sunrise-wardens… why were they here? To laugh and ridicule, most likely. Now they were running off… the Heart-keeper ignored the queer feeling in the back of his stomach.

He eventually just decided to close his eyes and wait for it to stop. Maybe the Laugh-keeper would get bored and leave him be.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the movement stopped. The Heart-keeper still kept his eyes closed tight, though; maybe if they thought he was dead they would walk away?

"Oh, shit… England, England…" A hand shaking his shoulder. "Oh, jeezus, England…"

Huh, why are you here? Please go away, for both our sakes.

But wait; how was the Laugh-keeper touching him? Well, the man was ridiculously strong, maybe he climbed up. (The real question was why would he touch him, _why would the man blessed with smiles even get near the one cursed for eternal unhappiness?_, but he didn't want to have to answer that.)

"Angleterre…?" The Dream-lord, here to taunt him again? He would not open his eyes, no, no, never.

"Christ… France, what if he's dead?"

"Non, non, he is breathing, see?"

"Then what the hell happened? Did he pass out from the air pressure up there? He was almost out of the atmosphere!"

"Non… considering who he is, I would say that he has the power to keep himself at normal body functions-"

"So he's okay? That's great!"

"Ve, America, America, we're back! And we brought Romano and Spain and Prussia and Denmark and Norway and Australia and a lot more! Ve, is England okay?"

"I think so, Italie."

"All right!"

"Ve~ but why isn't he awake? Why are all his boxes-" 'His boxes'? Why was the Pure-keeper noticing _his _boxes? The Heart-keeper's eyes fluttered open and his head shot up, ready to gut the man. No one but he could touch the boxes-

His strain of thought trailed off as he looked around at the people surrounding him, and in front of him, kneeling, was the Laugh-keeper and the Dream-lord. Behind them was the Pure-keeper, and a slew of others, all waiting for him to… open his eyes.

The Heart-keeper felt strangely… whole.

"Hey, you're awake!" The Laugh-keeper beamed. "Are you okay?"

The only thing he could croak out was "W-what is everyone doing here?"

"We were all so worried, why else? You're never around anywhere, always at home, and you've been really spacey." The Laugh-keeper leaned in closer, examining the deep shadows under his eyes, which made the Heart-keeper inexplicably blush. "See, France? Told you it was the height. Being down here already has already put some color back into him!"

The Dream-lord didn't reply, but he smirked at the Heart-keeper. Damn him.

"Oh," the Heart-keeper mumbled, looking away from the other souls. Towards the boxes, laying helter-skelter all over the ground. "My boxes!" he suddenly snapped as the thoughts clicked in. "What did you do to the hearts?"

"Angleterre, most of those boxes are filled with hearts that belong to humans long dead," the Dream-lord remarked. "They no longer have any use, and it's unhealthy to keep them in your realm." The Heart-keeper glared, but couldn't find it in him to disagree. Truthfully, he felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he had plummeted. So the hearts were gone…?

It wasn't that bad, he supposed. The Dream-lord was right this time.

A warmth engulfed him, a soft warmth smelling of motor oil and sea salt and some sort of cologne. The Laugh-keeper's jacket? Why would he give him this-?

"Upsy-daisy!" The Laugh-keeper grinned, swinging his arms underneath the Heart-keeper's back and knees. "You're pretty thin, Iggy. Don't worry, though! The hero has come and is gonna fix you up!"

He was rather tired; how many days since he last slept? It would be all right to sleep now; it was warm and safe in the Laugh-keeper's arms.

The Heart-keeper closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

AN: If any of you haven't inferred most of these, these are the positions stated:

Heart-keeper: England

Laugh-keeper: America

Dream-lord: France

Pure-keeper: Italy

Sunrise-warden: Japan

Sunset-warden: either China or Canada… can't decide.

So, so, this fic is loosely based off this one MAD about England, although the vid goes through his past more and was FrUK. As a USUK shipper, I couldn't let this injustice stand, but I really loved the idea and the cracked hearts really caught my imagination, so I cranked this out. Looking at it after it's finished, I'd like to expand on this, so if anyone cares please do ask me and I'll be so flattered and try and write something!

Best regards,

Zinc


End file.
